Oliver Cromwell is in my bum

A good many moons ago, when Ireland was dubbed the ‘sick man of Europe’ and Wurzel Gummidge was being suitably saucy on tea time TV, I found out I was directly related to Oliver Cromwell. Although only ten years old, I knew it had to be De Da’s side of the family as he was particularly gifted at starting bloody civil wars in the house and claiming zero responsibility for the body parts.

American genealogists had dropped the bombshell in a registered letter to Dublin with a $2 note for a prompt reply. Oliver Cromwell’s mother was Anne Caldwell of Solway Firth. At some stage they moved to Northern Ireland and branches of sprogs settled in Fermanagh and Donegal, while others fled to America when Cromwell turned against them after Charles II returned to power. Cromwell’s right-hand General was also a Caldwell. You get the sordid sorry picture.

Whatever the truth, there’s skimpy point getting anal about it…or is there? Cromwell was obsessed with the bowels. His famous retort: I beseech you, in the bowels of Christ, think it possible you may be mistaken! wasn’t blurted in isolation. While he died of typhoid on the battlefield it was also documented that he’d ‘terrible trouble’ with his bum and may have been diseased in that region too. And he may have passed it on. Last summer as my 46-yr-old brother’s colon tumour made its way by courier to a fancy genetics lab in the EU, I sat the old man down to ask how his siblings and family members had snuffed it. “Oh the two brothers died of bowel cancer or…hold on, no, eh – can you get me some water for the whiskey – one died of a rectal disease…and the Da died of colorectal cancer at age 58 and I think an aunt did as well, at the age of 23…but I couldn’t be sure of her, there was talk she might’ve been a prostitute”. The glorious eejit had never mentioned it. I’d had my suspicions about bipolar disorder, alcoholism, schizophrenia and depression, hedging my bets for a lengthy stay at a nut house any day soon. A could-be related cancer to his lot was there too on my mother’s side: four near relatives were wiped out by the stomach variety, the youngest at 36. “Even aunt Lena the almost vegetarian!” she exclaimed. “And her who wouldn’t even eat peas from a tin!”

The brother in England (with the travelling tumour) rang the hospital with my mother’s family history and asked what was the difference between bowel and stomach cancer? “Basically a few inches,” the geneticist replied. Double whammy for our generation of Caldwell’s so. The results back from the lab confirmed there was a ‘virulent’ familial strain. A few months later, by shabby coincidence, my mother was diagnosed with the same thing too. She’s just been through major surgery and follow-up treatment this summer. (An upside to the chemo for her is the restaurant in the Mater Private with its great array of delicious food, we always go for dinner afterwards. My brother also cited an unobvious benefit to his chemo many miles away in Ipswich: “the steroids give you a permanent hard-on”). The rest of us are currently marching along for tests. As I write I’m staring at a large box of ‘Klean Prep’ which I have to consume in a 4-litre load, to induce in vitro mud-slides, followed by a polite impaling at Beaumont Hospital in a few hours time.

Here’s the thing: genetics and predictive medicine is where it’s at. We’re on the cusp of a gilded age in science when a good old goo at your DNA code will reveal an accurate risk of cancer, diabetes, heart disease, etc. Medical folk will then be able to predict what drugs or treatment will work to keep you alive and well the longest. Within the next two to five years, geneticists maintain they’ll have the sequence of every major human cancer. Eventually they’ll ‘tinker’ with fated diseases when human life is still curled snug in the womb. In the bland old meantime, Irish families are still reluctant to talk about what killed those who came before them. “It’s not the done thing,” my mother said. “In my day people were dropping of TB and all sorts but we were too busy trying to get by to worry our heads about it”. Diagnosis was all over the place then, if anyone died of an unknown condition, it was generally lumped under the heading: ‘consumption’. The doctor, just like the priest and possibly the politician, was a sacrosanct golden cow you could only ever bestow a “thank you” to, and not bother with serious concerns or even questions.

Ireland has the second highest breast cancer rate in Europe, staggeringly high skin cancer rates too, and a steady stream of lung, ovary and prostate. We also have the third highest incidence of colorectal cancer for both males and females in the EU. Around 21,000 people are diagnosed every year with some form of the disease as well as a host of other auto-immune conditions, a lot of which could have hereditary starting points. The sooner you sit down and have that ‘genetics’ conversation with older family members, the quicker you’ll be able to jump on your health horse and deal with it. My near-genocidal ancestor (if I’m related to him) may have been a heinous shit, but he’s left me with a clear will not to kill indiscriminately and to breathe in and out for as long as is reasonably possible. How about you?

18 Responses

If you go back far enough we are all related to someone of suspicious geneology. Your brisk advice is no doubt helpful but personally speaking I could not possibly follow it: I am still very doubtful about dentists let alone experts in white suits. My mother, who was Irish, and protestant. was equally forthright: eat your greens, lead a healthy life (yes, you know what I mean), keep off the Guiness – listen to your body. Don’t laugh) and you will be OK.
But protestants are entirely unreliable as those of us in the know realise. Luther, it is solemnly asserted, suffered all his life from severe constipation. But for this condition he would not have been permanently discontented and rebellious and the Reformation would never have occurred. I am inclined to give this anecdote credence but then I am gullible.

Thanks Colin! Charliechops1: the link to Ollie is ominous but still, one can’t help but wonder. So far, four people on my dad’s side have died of bowel cancer (immediate siblings, father, etc) and four on my mum’s side of stomach (near relations too) and I do think the whole area of ‘genetics’ is where we’re heading in terms of disease prevention in the future. But of course you can get ‘anything’ at any time from dire diet, self abuse or environmental factors, etc., and a lot of health outcomes seem to be based on chance and general randomness. Another thing that seems to be ‘inherited’ is sheer stupidity: the appointment I had today was just to ‘talk’ about making an appointment for a colonoscopy. So basically I took 4 litres of sickly diarrhoea-inducing cack, for no apparent reason and will have to repeat the process in a month’s time. Interesting too to see the two-tier health system at work. My mother and brother have private health insurance so were whisked through at breakneck speed. I have waited four months for an ‘emergency’ appointment to be told this morning it was an appointment to discuss an appointment, etc etc., with a further wait on the cards I’m glad I’m not showing any real symptoms. PS. Our Caldwell clan were originally protestant when they settled in Fermanagh but absconded to the other side at some point or other, lost all their money and became broke farm labourers with a penchant for drinking themselves to death, another family trait.

It was the price I paid for being dumb! In fairness to Beaumont, the appointment letter did not say ‘colonoscopy’…but when I booked an ‘emergency appointment’ via the GP four months ago now, I assumed when the date came through that’s what it was [obviously] for. As I hadn’t received a prescription for the prep thing I rang last Thur and they said, “Oh just get it in the chemist if that’s what you’re due in for,” and so I did! I can’t believe how shabby the waiting tmes are here compared to NHS in Belfast or UK. I waited four months for an appointment to sit with a ‘specialsit’ who read the letter sent from the genetics lab in UK that I forwarded them from my GP back in April. “Oh, so there’s someone in your family with this cancer already, wait, no…several people?” He hadn’t read it till then. Now I wait for him to organise the date I thought was organised four months ago. Imagine if I was ‘genuinely’ ill? People must certainly ‘get worse’ or die waiting in our health system. Makes me feel grateful if anything….

I have a bowl testing kit BUT faced with the antics involved in it I chickened out. I am relying on statistics and a four leafed clover. Actuarily I can expect, assuming a natural death, whatever that is, to last to the average of my two parents age of death plus something for the general increase in life expectancy since their death in the population at large. (Don’t you love that expression?) Actually I am too scared to die. I am not sure that there is an after life but if there is I am doubtful about getting through the selection tests. My theory is that being scared releases certain chemicals in the body that act to keep us going. Under this theory the more I am scared the longer I will live. I would be grateful to know more really scary forecasts. Of course your account is reassuring but, as you will understand, it does not serve my purposes. Please forgive me I’m a joker. Of course you are right. I suspect you are usually right. It must create difficulties if you cannot hide your knowlege a little. I suspect that there are other people like me although, I confess, I have not met any.

When you see kids going through cancer treatment you realise what a disgusting idea the whole ‘God’ thing is. Religion, in my view, is for sheepish shallow lunatics. What’s wrong with believing in life before death as opposed to life after? Fear, adrenalin, hatred, can keep people plugged in and alive, yes, but so can looking after your health and taking reasonable steps against persistent self abuse. A simple thing like a blood test now and then could pick up what the waking body is in denial of. As for praying to talking snakes in overgrown imaginary gardens, it just doesn’t bite my monkey.

Isn’t the founder of Google currently investigating his likely hood of contracting Alzheimer’s via genetic coding?

In any case, brilliant post June. As the biological product of a dead once alcoholic chain smoker and an overweight lady with high blood pressure who considers salt is a food group I too walk a fine line of possible future health roulette.
I try to combat this hereditary hoo-ha by keeping my weight down, not smoking and am currently alcohol free- although is a non fluid state.
Naturally I imagine I will be hit by a bus or struck by a bolt of lightening any old day now.

Didn’t hear about the Google guy and the genetic coding thingydeemajigs. That’s interesting, must look it up There was a ‘mobile genetics clinic’ up North somewhere that did those ‘this is what you might die of’ tests and I tried to track them down for a feature. The attitude of peers was: ‘Oh God, why would you want to know?’ which I found extraordinary. Why would you *not* want to know? Obviously there’s a difference between scaremongering and knowing what is probable. It ain’t a crystal-ball service: one of my best buds in journalism, Denis, died having an anaesthetic for a routine operation a few years back at age 39. Rubbbish things happen all the time, but doesn’t it help to ward off invisible enemies that are tuned into your DNA? What you did with the fags was super and diet is hard too, am envious of your booze dropping: that’s one thing my DNA won’t let me do! From a ‘science’ perspective I do wonder about the future in terms of genetics and how much it will be available to people in terms of tampering with to live longer, especially if the planet’s population is swelling to bursting point. Let’s guess, who’ll be given the service above others? We know the answer to that already.

The founder of Google is actually researching Parkinson’s disease because he is genetially predisposed to same They have found he contains the genetic code that makes his chances of getting Parkinson’s quite high. Parkinson’s disease is a strange disease in that smokers don’t get it and drinking coffee is meant to be a deterrent against it but so is working out in the gym. However, as in all cases, the smoking and drinking coffee may stave off the Parkson’s but lead to something else. I had my colonoscopy last year and I got the all clear. Im vegetarian. I gave up smoking completely 14 years ago. I do like my red wine, can’t be completely vice free and again, it is actually quite good for you if you only have the two glasses, and I have discovered that wine can only be had with food, on its own, its way too lethal. I try to have a lot of antioxidants in my diet, starting the day with nettle tea and some live yogurt with blueberries manuka honey and milled seeds. I have regular blood tests and will keep an eye on the colon cancer link. I do exercise a lot too and work very hard at losing weight but again I do recognise that Im genetically predisposed to weight and that I have to work extremely hard to lose a pound. I think, as in all matters, its important to be informed and aware, so that you can get an early diagnosis or even better be relieved when you get the all clear. I have a friend who will not go for any tests that women of her age for like mammograms, cervical smears etc. and has told me if there is “anything wrong with her she just does not want to know”. I find this extraordinary because illness will not go away simply because you ignore it. Im a parent and so is she. I want to be responsible to myself but also recognise I have a responsibillity to my partner and children to try and stay healthy. I try to walk that tightrope between facing my fears and trying not to let them overwhelm me, in the hope that I will continue to have a healthy happy life.

You forgot to mention you’re one of Cromwell’s sprogs too! Four relations on the Ma’s side btw: Lena, Lizzie, Meg and her brother (age 36) all with stomach cancer (closely related to bowel). Also, Lena was a ‘near’ vegetarian, as in only ate meat once a month or something and worked as a cook all her life, making everything from scratch, wouldn’t eat anything from a tin or a packet and only ate organic. Genetics play a huge role, they reckon up to 80%. I think that’s the difference between ‘that’ generation and ours….maybe they were too frantically busy just trying to get by to notice the obvious.

I live in hope that my mother had an affair and I’m not the daughter of her current husband! Hopefully the genetic link is getting diluted and strengthened by other strands though on my husband’s side people are more likely to die of boredom from being fanatical catholics!. Happily, that behavioural strain has certainly not passed on. Anyway, we can just keep an eye and carry on. Stress is also a huge factor in illness also, so fuck it, eat, drink and be merry. Laughter is way too under-rated as a medicine.

Excellent stuff, June. The title is going to make me smile all day and, thanks to your terrific writing, the message is firmly stuck in my mind in a way it wouldn’t have been if this were a less personal, less well-written spot of bloggery.